You're Already There
by thiswaybecauseofjacob
Summary: Modern.Christine is forced to leave her fiance and move away from Paris to the big city, where she meets her intimidating new boss who makes her life a living Hell.May be RC or EC.
1. Prologue

**Well, I've been wanting to start a new, modern phic for a long time, but I still have hardly any idea what's going to happen, so pleassse bear with me. It started out written in 1870, so if you see any time errors or terms like "governess" in the prologue, please leave me a note in the reviews. Thanks, guys! **

**I'm not going to tell you if it's going to be RC or EC, you'll just have to find out for yourselves! (mwahaha)**

**And big cookies to anyone who reviews the PROLOGUE:) And I haven't given up on Confessions, I'm just thinking of the perfect epilogue. So bear with me on that too. I'm a busy woman! er..teen!**

_Prologue_

Seven-year old Christine plopped herself heavily onto the sandy shore of the beach, seagulls scattering at the disruption, looking out at the dark blue ocean of the Brittany coast with trembling eyes. Her vision was blurred with tears that wouldn't stop flowing, and her tiny nose was puffy and red. She buried her face in her hands, hoping to wake up from this nightmare, trying to lose the sight of her father's face going pale only minutes ago. .of his hand going stiff in hers as she pleaded to anyone who would listen - God, her Angel whom she knew watched over her, even her neighbor- that they not take her father from her. .please, not her father. . .

Her daddy couldn't be gone! She couldn't live without her papa! Who would tell her stories? Or fix her warm soup and sing to her when she was sad? Who would make her laugh? Who would be there? Who!

She cried for ages, her sobs ranging from full-out wails to small, shuddering sobs that shook her tiny frame until she ached. Her head throbbed in agony, only making Christine cry harder. She wished the world would open up beneath her and swallow her whole, taking her to some place where she could disappear into a darkness where she would never be bothered again, never be pained again.

She couldn't bear life without her father! He was the one person who always knew what to say, who helped her defend herself against mean bullies at school, and who made her mother's passing so much easier to handle. But what about his own death? He couldn't comfort her if he wasn't here anymore! He promised her an angel - an angel of music! But no angel would compare to her father. She was only 7. .why did she have to go through all this? All of the girls at her school had daddies and mommies, while she had nothing. Nothing but her Godmother, Mother Valerius, whom was a big strange to be around. But right now she wanted her Papa. Right now, she just wanted to be held in his arms. Or somebody's arms. Someone warm. .she shivered as a strong gust of icy wind blew her chestnut curls around her face, and raised goose bumps along her skinny arms. A storm was on the way, she noted, as she looked up at the darkening sky.

She started to get up, wiping away the freezing tears on her cheeks, when she heard a tiny, sweet male voice she knew all too well call her name frantically from behind her.

"Raoul. ." she gasped quietly as she brought her hands to her side, a smile already lighting her features. She turned eagerly to him, to see him hurriedly and clumsily running towards her, away from his irritated babysitter, sandy blonde hair flying wildly. "Christine!" he called out again. Christine smiled wider, blue eyes twinkling. The tears still flowed, though they had ebbed slightly, and Christine knew it was because Raoul was with her now. Raoul . .how precious he was. He plopped himself down next to her, not minding as his expensive slacks got covered in sand, and took her hand in his. Christine blushed as he rubbed her cold hand, wet with tears, between his two warm ones. It felt nice. Christine noticed his babysitter glaring disdainfully at them both, but she didn't care. Let her be angry. She obviously didn't know what love was. Christine did.

Raoul was nine years old, two years older than herself, and already he was growing into a comforting, loving gentlemen. Christine had met him two years ago, when she had been 5, after he had rescued her scarf from the very ocean they sat by. That very night, she had told Raoul she "loved him lots", though at the time it was nothing more than a childish crush. The boy was beautiful, after all. But Raoul had smiled widely and blissfully, not understanding the difference anymore than she did, and responded in kind. They played every day, told stories to each other or asked her father to tell some, to which he happily obliged. They soon became real childhood sweethearts, both feeling more for each other than a crush, and Raoul was with her through everything. Before she turned 6, her mother had died of cancer, and Christine had been completely devastated. She loved her mother as much as her father, and felt the pain of her loss as much as her father did, even though she was a child. Raoul had been there in five minutes, looking breathless and disheveled, face flushed. He had run all the way there to be with her. Christine had been overjoyed, and was soon laughing and giggling along with him as he sat with her in front of the fire, trying his best to make her forget. He could make her forget everything. .

"Chrissy," he whispered now, blue eyes wide with question. "What's wrong? You're sad. And you're hands are so cold. You didn't wear gloves. You should be careful!"

Christine sniffed and smiled again, thankful that she had such a caring friend. The only friend she had, now. .

She noticed Raoul was looking at her strangely, and she turned her head away in shame, thinking he was making fun of her tear-stained, puffy cheeks. She must've looked ridiculous. But he only turned her face back to his with his tiny index finger, and gave her a crooked, adorable smile, his perfect teeth dazzling her.

"You still look so pretty, Christine, even when your face is all red. I like it." He smiled wider, and Christine finally lost it and collapsed against him, crying now in relief, instead of sadness. Shr buried her head in his jacket, face hidden against his small chest. Raoul instantly brought his arms up around her, not fully understanding what was going on but knowing he had to comfort his Little Lotte. He hated seeing her in pain. .it made him hurt as much as she did. He laid his smooth cheek atop her curly head, not minding as her tears soaked through his new shirt. His father would be furious. .

Raoul smiled wickedly, before remembering Christine was in pain. He held her tighter, hoping to squeeze all her pain away, or at least take some of it off of her. She was shaking terribly. .and suddenly he knew what had happened. It was the only thing that could cause her this much pain. Raoul felt his heart constrict. Poor Christine, his poor, poor little Lotte. .

"It's your father, isn't it, Chrissy?" Christine noticed his voice was laced with unshed tears. She slid her arms around his waist and squeezed him tighter, giving him the answer he needed. Raoul sighed, his heart throbbing from this new realization. Her father. .had. .died? Raoul knew that he had cancer, just as her mother had, but he had never thought that it would take them _both. _He loved her father as his own - he showed Raoul the kind of love his own never did. He treated him like a second son, and let him play with Christine whenever he wanted. Life without him would be difficult for them both.

But he would help them through it, because Christine needed him to, and he would not let her down.

He felt her sigh against him. "Raoul.." she started, nervousness evident in her voice even through the muffling fabric of his shirt . "Yes, Lotte?" he asked, continuing to stroke her hair. She took a deep, shuddering breath, before pulling back and looking into his eyes. "Will you stay with me forever and ever? No one else has. .and I'm scared."

Raoul took one look at her wide, pleading blue eyes the color of the ocean in front of them, and started to cry. He was crying for her, crying for his lost, lonely little angel, and wondering why the world had abandoned her, why God had to take everyone she loved from her. Well, Raoul decided, I will never abandon her. I will be here, forever and ever.

He nodded through his tears, and they both cried together, as he rocked her in his arms. He suddenly felt so much older, exposed to more of the world than he was supposed to. .at age 9, he was not supposed to be comforting a little girl whose parents had died. This was uncalled for and undeserved. Raoul knew he shouldn't question God - his father would whip his behind raw! - but he didn't understand!

"Yes, Lotte - Christine -, I will be here, forever and ever. And after that, too!"

He paused, thinking.

"You know what, Chrissy?" Christine looked up at him expectantly, both of their tears now drying on their faces. He wiped hers from her flushed cheeks. "My brother said that if you wish for something really hard, you'll get it. Why don't you wish for your papa to be back? Then he can tell you stories again." He looked incredibly hopeful, knowing that only getting her father back would truly make her happy again. Christine only gave a sweet little smile.

"Nuh-uh. I thought that about my mommy, and wished every night for her to come back. One day papa found me in my room on the floor, crying because she wouldn't come. Then he told me how when you go to Heaven, you have to stay there, but she's waiting for me, and she'll always be waiting, and she'll love me as much as she did when she was alive. But I couldn't ask for her to come back. .because. .it was. .her time." She looked down. "But, how do I know it was my papa's time? He wasn't s'possed to leave me by myself! He wasn't s'possed to!" She began yelling, jumping up and running towards the water, suddenly having a strong desire to wash her troubles away. Maybe the ocean could carry her away. .away to where her father was, even. Heaven. .

But as soon as she got knee-deep, her soaked dress clinging to her tiny legs, a small, but strong arm wrapped around her waist and began dragging her back to the shore, kicking and screaming. She fought against him, pleading with him to let her go, to let her find her father, but he wouldn't let her go.

Her tantrum lasted for over 10 minutes, and Raoul never let his grip weaken. He nearly began to cry again as he witnessed his angel's delusional behavior, as she screamed something about "finding Heaven".

How he wished he were brave enough to kiss her. He remembered when he had first met her, as he stood shivering and shaking, soaked to the bone, holding her scarf, absolutely petrified. He thought he was going to drown! Then Christine had leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and his fear had melted away. Oh, how beautiful she had been that day. . he remembered her laughing at his boyish smile. .she had the most beautiful laugh! Almost bell-like. .clear and musical.

As Christine continued to flail about, he noticed she was starting to exhaust herself, and he prayed she would relax enough for him to take her to his house for tea. His babysitter had disappeared, and he knew she had gone to get Philippe. He would be angry, but he would soften once he found out what had happened. .he would have to!

Finally, Christine gave one last, weak wail, and collapsed against him, and resigned to once again becoming a blubbering mess of tears. She knew she should be ashamed, but she was hardly aware of anything except Raoul's soothing words and comforting arms. She closed her eyes, sinking back against his chest and wrapping his coat around them both. She didn't even feel uncomfortable in this position, too young to find it improper. It was just. .peaceful. She sighed, calm and finally relaxed. Maybe Raoul would let her sleep,. .just for a few minutes. .She knew the storm was coming, she could hear the thunder, but oh, she never wanted to leave! Just as she was drifting into sleep, she felt Raoul's hesitant lips against her cheek. Her eyes shot open, but she didn't move as he kept his lips there. She felt her heart swell, and she smiled ecstatically as she sunk farther against him, and finally Raoul moved his mouth from her cheek.

"Forever and ever, Lotte. I promise. Forever and ever and ever. ."

He chanted the words over and over, the mantra becoming a whisper on the winds that swirled around the two beautiful children, wrapped around each other in a comforting hold.

"Forever and ever and ever. .Little Lotte.. .forever."

Twenty-three year old Christine smiled in her sleep, not realizing as she slept that her beautiful memories were just a dream. Not realizing that she was actually alone, 16 years later, in her one-bedroom apartment in New York City. Not realizing that Raoul was no longer with her, neither was her Godmother Valerius, or her Angel that had never come. Not yet realizing that she no longer had anyone who loved her.

How she wished she could live in her dreams, and disappear from reality forever. . .

**-------**

**Not much has happened yet, but just give me time. I'm not sure when my next update will be..but reviews make it happen fasterrr..trails off hintingly..**


	2. A New Oppurtunity

**Thank you to my kind reviewers. **

**Enjoy! I wasn't sure how to write the want ads or the name of the companies, so sorry if it's not realistic. **

**Chapter 1**

The next morning, Christine sat at the small particle wood table in the kitchen of her apartment, glaring at the newspaper sitting in front of her that was currently turned to the want-ads. There was absolutely nothing at all on the pages that seemed even remotely interesting. She figured it might have something to do with the fact that she had only spent about five minutes looking at it, and the other hour and twenty five minutes _glaring _at it, or getting up to fiddle with the thermostat, desperate for something to distract her from the tortuous task. Such was the daily routine of Christine Daae. She sighed.

It had been this way for three years, only breaking tradition for three weeks every other month, on the rare occasion that she found a job. She always managed to lose the job, however, before it payed her enough to get her into college. That was why she had to satisfy herself with a run-down, one bedroom apartment that she shared with her best friend Meg(she slept in Christine's bed - they were far too poor to be embarrassed or self-conscious of this, and Meg refused to sleep on the floor but wouldn't allow Christine to take her place), who had yet to return from her late night partying on campus.

She was currently attending NYU. Christine wondered if she would ever get to know what that felt like.

Meg had gotten there on scholarship alone, as she was even poorer than Christine, and she was blown away when she had received her letter of congratulations from the college. She was now trying for a Bachelor's degree in British Literature, the only thing she was more passionate about than dancing.

Christine was terrible at dancing, and literature - of any kind - bored her to death. Music was her passion, but her scholarship application had been rejected.

Twice.

She wasn't stupid - not at all! She made decent grades in all of her classes - never failing, at least - so she couldn't understand why they wouldn't accept her. But she was determined to get into the college, or at least _some _college, to prove to herself that she wasn't doing anything wrong. She _needed_ to know she wasn't doing anything wrong.

It was all a matter of waiting it out. And getting the money, of course.

Meg was very supportive, and was always perfectly cheery and optimistic, but Christine knew she was nervous about the whole situation. She was the one who had invited Christine to live with her, after all, even though there was no other choice at the time. Meg's mother had been saving enough money to get Meg to New York for college, and enough for a decent apartment. Christine had had nothing, and so had consented to be her roommate, just happy to have somewhere to live again, and thrilled by the fact that she was moving somewhere like New York City. She had never been anywhere but Paris and her hometown of Brittany. But Meg was highly embarrassed by the fact that she had gotten into college so easily, _and_ had a job dancing in a local ballet company that paid their rent and put decent food on the table, while Christine had nothing. Christine didn't know how to bring it up to tell her it didn't matter, so there was always a subtle tension between them that never faded, and Christine was starting to doubt that it ever would.

God, she needed that job.

She glared harder, before taking a sip of her black coffee. She was feeling rather irritated this morning, especially after that dream. It had stirred up some memories she wished she could forget. She tried to focus on the black print, written so tiny she had to squint and lean forward to see it, but her mind kept wandering to last night's dream, marveling at the fact that every detail was exactly as clear as the minute she had dreamed it. She could even see Raoul's hair, glinting even without the light of the sun. She could see her own self, as if watching the scene from outside her body, burying her head in his chest as his arms wrapped around her. God, she could even feel the warmth of him!

She choked back her tears, holding a hand to her mouth. She tried to push the memories aside, knowing Raoul was safe and sound back in Paris with his lovely brother Philippe - she sneered as she thought of him - and she had nothing to be sniveling about. He had promised he would find some way, _any way_ to visit her.

_That was four years ago, Christine,_ a voice whispered evilly in her head.

"So?" she said aloud, then blushed at her idiotic behavior. She was being ridiculous. She took a deep breath, and forced herself to focus on the paper before her, finally able to understand the ads. She had not been studying it thirty seconds before her cell phone rang.

She slammed the paper down, snatching up the phone in irritation.

"What!" she snarled into the phone, not bothering to check the caller id. The phone had been a gift from Raoul, when she had turned fifteen. She hated when he spoilt her like that, but she admitted she was glad he had given her _this_ luxury.

A lilting, female voice answered her, completely oblivious to her less than friendly greeting.

"Oh! Hey, Chrissy! Sorry I didn't come home last night, I'm at Sorelli's. She offered to give me a place to crash, though um . .I doubt she'll even _remember_ she invited me when she wakes up, she was so drunk. . The party was. .um, a little rowdy, and it lasted longer than I expected. ."

Christine knew this meant that she had met an incredibly hot guy and decided to get to know him. She never did anything else when first meeting them. She always just _talked,_ which sometimes left the guys confused, but impressed. It was classic Meg, always the charmer.

"How'd he look?" Christine asked, smiling softly as Meg instantly attacked the topic.

"Oh, Chrissy he was _amazing! _His face, oh goodness! He had the most gorgeous eyes, hazel I think . .and he was Italian or something, I'm not sure, and his hair was brown. ."- she paused - "I think . ."- her voice sounded perplexed- "but, I know he was incredibly sexy."

Christine laughed out loud. Meg always spent a good time getting to know them, but she had a hard time remembering which was which. Christine usually was better at remembering Meg's guys than Meg was.

"I think that's the guy you went out with last Tuesday," Christine said, a smile in her voice. Meg went silent, thinking.

Finally, after a minute, she spoke again, completely unfazed. "You're right. Oh well. Maybe I should go out with _him_ again. I have his number somewhere. ." she trailed off. Christine waited, knowing she didn't even remember his name, much less where she put his number. Christine remembered his name was George. He had even come over to the apartment to drop Meg off. Christine admitted that he _was _incredibly sexy, and also very nice. She wasn't wild about his name, but he was Meg's best choice yet. And his eyes were _green._ Christine laughed to herself.

"So, how's the job hunting goin'?" Meg finally asked, changing the subject. It was the real reason she had called Christine at 9 in the morning, knowing it was how her friend spent her mornings.

Christine sighed.

"Well, I found a few things. ." she quickly scanned the page, and repeated the first ad she spotted into the phone. "Secretary wanted to work full time at **Regan's Pumps**." She furrowed her brow. Maybe that wasn't the _best_ thing to tell Meg. .

"Um. .Chrissy? Do you even _know_ what Regan's Pumps is?" Her voice sounded amused.

Christine blushed.

"Of course, Meggy! A plumbing company."

She winced. How wonderful.

Meg laughed. "And you want to work there? Come on Christine, don't lie to me. And it's a refinery. The secretary's do nothing but answer the phones and deal with sweaty, stinking, oil-covered pervs. Well, most of them are that way, anyway."

Christine sighed, then looked down. She hated the newspaper. Her eyes locked on the ad located beneath the one she had just read. She looked over at it, read over it and decided it was decent.

"Well how 'bout this?" she asked, then started to read. "Seeking full-time assistant- ." Meg sighed in agitation, but Christine pressed on, repeating it a little more forcefully. "Just listen Meg! Seeking full-time assistant at **De Mare Imagery **- he's a photographer, Meg! - Assistant will be responsible for answering phones, taking messages, and filing. Will start at minimum wage for the first month. Apply in person or by calling Sonya Baker at the front desk."

She waited silently for Meg's consent, biting her lip. _Please Meg,. .I don't want to burden you anymore. ._

Meg mulled it over at Sorelli's dorm, the aforementioned person sprawled lazily over her bed, still drunk. Meg had slept in her roommate's bed, who was still out partying. Meg tapped her fingernails against the wooden table she was sitting at, a bagel sitting untouched in front of her. She thought it sounded decent. .at least better than her other jobs, which had usually been hole-in-the-wall restaurants who only wanted Christine for her pretty face, but soon found she lacked the spunk of their other waitresses. She just wasn't very. .happy. .anymore.

Meg had become very critical of Christine's job choices, lately, hoping to prevent her from choosing jobs that could only lead to failure. It would crush her esteem, and she would eventually give up.

Meg nodded to herself. Yes, this would work. Or at least be better than her other jobs. Maybe Christine would eventually be able to take up some of the rent, so they could be comfortable. She was aware of the tension that existed between the two, all because she had things Christine wanted. She didn't care if Christine didn't pay for anything, she had more than enough at the time, but she knew Christine felt awkward. She wanted Chrissy to feel comfortable.

"I think it's cool, Chrissy, you should go for it. But uh. .put on some decent clothes and try to look like you _want_ to be there, instead of looking like a lazy bum. Love ya, babe." She hung up the cell phone, laying it on the table. She stared at it sadly, hoping the best for her poor friend. She finally sighed pushed back her chair, standing and going back to the empty bed. She collapsed onto it gratefully, lulled by the sound of New York City traffic. Oh, how she loved the weekends. .

---

Christine smiled. Meg was always completely honest, damned the consequences. That was what was so great about her. She sighed, rolling up the paper and throwing it in the trash after writing down the address and phone number. She stared down at the small piece of paper, brow furrowed.

"Fifth street, . ." she mumbled to herself. She would have to borrow some of Meg's money again to get her a ride to the business. She sighed, deciding she would hold off the interview until tomorrow. Right now, she just wanted to sleep, and get over her dream. She wasn't sure why she had even forced herself to get up this morning. Perhaps because she constantly felt as if she were running out of time . .

Well, that was ending. Tomorrow, she would get that job and put her life back on track. She would get enough money to pay for tuition at some college, and graduate and start living her life.

She collapsed onto her bed, wrapping the comforter around her and breathing in its comforting scent. Sometimes, being jobless had its luxuries. .

**----**

**Well, there ya go. The next installment of "You're Already There." I hope you enjoy, and thank you SO much to my reviewers who are already supporting the story! I hope it appeals to you!**

**And no, Raoul isn't going to be out of the story in Paris forever. That'd be cruel, and Raoul is a critical character in this. (Well..duh. :slaps forehead:)**

**And George, the Italian hunk, is based off a SPANISH hunk by the name of George Kelly, who can SING. -faints- He was on America's Got Talent! And I swear I think I sat through it with my chin in my lap. He was..wow. And so sexy too. **

**Sorry if the chapters are short, mine have a habit of turning out that way. I TRY to make them long, but it never works very well. :(**

**Anyway, please review! -pleading smile-**


	3. An Interview

**Thanks to the fabuolous reviewers I alraedy have for this story, I love you! **

**Oh look, it's Erik! -grins- **

**I don't think you'll like him in this chapter, however. I know some of you may be confused as to why Christine is so poor right now(er, did I explain that already in the last chapter? OO But all will be explained in time. **

**NOTE: I have never been to Brittany. I have never seen the beach. So frankly, I have no idea what it looks like. So I'm going to make that up, k? K. Along with the names of many restaurants and things such as that. Enjoy! **

**Chapter 2**

Christine stood awkwardly in the middle of Erik De Mare's private office, trying not to look too out of place in her cargo pants and black tank, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail at the back of her head. This was the nicest outfit she owned, at the time. She looked around anxiously, trying unsuccessfully to slow her racing heart. She had been told to wait for him in his office, and that he would be in to see her shortly, after he got back from running an errand. She had been shaking too much to give a response, and she now briefly wondered how she was supposed to handle a whole interview. Why couldn't he just accept a simple resume?

She waited a moment, idly hitting her palms against the pockets of her pants, then moved to sit in one of the leather chairs positioned around the room, feeling as if the upholstery was swallowing her whole. She shifted several times, trying to get comfortable.

Once she was decently content with her position, she resumed her study of her surroundings. The office was the most beautiful room she had ever seen, and it was rather large; she doubted if she had ever seen anything so fancy. Instead of a simple couch, he had a sleek, black leather divan sitting in one corner, accompanied by two matching leather chairs and a tall floor lamp with a simple black shade. On the floor, there was a Persian area rug covering the gleaming wooden floors, and there was even a fake fireplace in one corner. The desk was of fine, polished cherry wood, and on top of the desk stood a mess of papers and manila file folders, next to a slim, black laptop. A black Razr cell-phone sat next to a Starbucks coffee cup in the corner of his desk, and she saw an open briefcase sitting in his leather computer chair. He had obviously left in a hurry, and she hoped he would be tied up for a while, to give her time to calm her frazzled nerves.

The walls were a deep red, almost burgundy, and on them were rows and rows of pictures in simple black frames, each one more beautiful than the last. She had never seen pictures like those; some in black and white, some in color - he managed to capture the true beauty of the moment, to capture the feel and atmosphere of each scene. Most of them were of exotic-looking places she had never seen, so she stood up and walked over to them to read the captions underneath. She walked by them all, taking a minute to study each piece, her breath catching each time she looked at a new masterpiece. It amazed her the places he had been.

"_Frankfurt, Germany, Chicago, Hong Kong, Singapore, Venice, Paris . . . _" she continued through them all, completely entranced, until she reached one that made her stop in her tracks. No, it couldn't be. .

It was a rocky beach, with dark gray whitecaps and an equally gray sky, with a white sand beach and high, grassy dunes. It wasn't particularly beautiful, but with the familiar colors, and the atmosphere, it felt like home. She studied it closer, trying to see if it was really what she thought it was. She leaned in towards the caption, and read the black printed words with wide eyes:

"_Brittany, France 1997. ._"

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes blurred with tears. He had been to her childhood home! She hadn't been there since she was eleven! She had lived with her Mother Valerius in her simple cottage until her God mother had determinedly decided she wanted to see the city before she died. Christine, young butsmart enough to understand that it wasn't a good idea for an 87 year old woman to travel all the way to Paris, fought endlessly with her about it, trying to convince her that it wasn't good for her health. But she had insisted, and so they had packed up and moved to a small flat in Paris soon after.

Two years later, Raoul's parents died in a car accident in Brittany, and Raoul had used their death as an excuse for him to move to Paris, saying he was too depressed to remain so close to where he held so many memories of them. It wasn't a lie, necessarily. He did miss them dearly, but all he was focused on at the time was getting to be with Christine again. Philippe didn't figure that out until later.

Christine smiled.

"Ah. That is my particular favorite. Now stop staring and get over here so I can get this over with."

Christine yelped as she heard the deep, musical voice, with a very subtle French accent, from behind her, and she spun around fast enough to give herself whiplash. She hadn't even heard anyone come in! She closed her eyes and briefly brought her hand to her chest, feeling her rapid heartbeat beneath her fingers. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and opened her eyes, flitting them around the room in an attempt to find the voice. She found him, leaning over his black suitcase in a futile attempt at closing it.

He was tall, and rather lean, almost skeletal. He wore a very elegant, well-fitted black suit that screamed designer origins, and he had a shock of black hair that was gelled back, reaching to the nape of his neck. He was the essence of sensuality, though it wasn't his looks that gave off such an air. She nervously stepped closer to the desk as she had been ordered, and waited patiently as he continued to fight with the briefcase. Finally, he let out a string of curses and threw the whole thing to the ground, making Christine jump as it clattered to the floor.

He turned to her then, and Christine gasped in surprise. She tried to avoid his gaze, to avoid her curiosity, but as always, her curiosity got the best of her. Her eyes flashed up to his, and she felt herself shudder.

His eyes were dark, almost black, but they glinted with a strange, cold light that make Christine subconsciously step back. He had high cheekbones and pale skin, and his nose was long and powerful. His full lips were set in a grim line, and she noticed they were redder than they should be. None of this was what frightened her, however - it was the simple, white, porcelain mask that sat on the right side of his face, covering every inch of skin from his hairline to right above him lip. It was the most noticeable thing on his entire body, simply because it was such a stark contrast to all the iblack/b in his wardrobe.

She knew it had to be due to some deformity, though she wondered at the fact that he didn't simply get plastic surgery. She had seen burn victims with faces mutilated beyond distinction look absolutely normal in little more than two months, thanks to the magic of billions of dollars worth of surgery. Maybe he was simply eccentric. He was rich, and that was just as good an excuse as any. But still, the mask seemed to be a part of his face, like it belonged there. It was rather eerie.

He was beautiful, yet hideous. He was as exotic as his pictures. He exuded grace, exuded power, and his gaze was so hypnotic Christine felt herself stepping closer to his desk until her abdomen was pressed against the wood. . He had long, pale, elegant hands that were now splayed out on the desk before him, and she could see the spidery veins covering the pale flesh. She noticed a simple gold band with a gleaming onyx stone sitting in the middle of his ring finger on his left hand. So he was married, then. Of course someone of his class would be, whether he had a freaky mask covering one half of his face or not. Her eyes traveled up his arms, over his broad shoulders and his pale neck, up to his striking face, where two black eyes were glaring coldly at her. She blushed, then looked down. She quickly sat in the chair behind her.

She had never seen anyone like him, and it had taken all her will power to tear her eyes away. She presumed it was like this with everyone who met him, and she wondered at how he managed to deal with the number of stares he must get when he went out in public. And he obviously went out a lot, seeing the amount of different places he went to.

_"Great, now you've gone and insulted him,"_ she said to herself, mentally slapping her forehead.

"What were you staring at, I wonder?" he asked, hissing the words sarcastically. Christine looked up at him, seeing his blazing eyes, and began fumbling in her brain for an answer. Why had she chosen this job, again? He began tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently.

"You have a lot of. .of black, sir. In your wardrobe. I was simply. .surprised," she whispered to her hands, then blushed deeper as she realized how idiotic she sounded.

He was quiet for a minute, and she worried she had insulted him again.

"I like it," he said defensively, and she was relieved to hear that his voice had lost some of its coldness. Now she could look at him.

She bravely held her head up and locked gazes with him, giving him her full attention. He studied her for a moment, and she blushed as she felt his gaze go over her eyes, her nose, her lips, her neck. .

The scrutinizing went on for a bit longer, until Christine turned her head away and let some of her brown bangs fall in her eyes, obscuring her face from view. He sighed, turning his own head away, then began to fumble for something on his desk. Christine wrung her hands in her lap as she waited, and felt the perspiration beginning to collect on her forehead. She wiped it away as casually as she could. Why was she so nervous? Was it because he wasn't saying anything? She rather liked to hear his voice. It was the one thing that wasn't as menacing as the rest of him. It might even be soothing, if he were capable of feigning such emotion. Looking at him now, grimacing and brow furrowed, she doubted he could.

Finally he found what he was looking for among the clutter, and brought out a list of handwritten questions clipped to a clipboard that was - of course - black. She sighed.

He found a pen in a drawer, then began to scratch something out at the top of the paper.

"What's your name?" he finally asked, still studying the clipboard. Christine furrowed her brow in confusion.

That morning, she had called the number listed in the ad she had copied down yesterday, and had reached a woman by the name of Sonya Baker. She had told her to give her name and to come at 3 that afternoon for an interview. Wouldn't Sonya have told him. .?

"What's your name?" he asked again, a little more forcefully now, and Christine realized he must think she was mentally incompetent. She quickly answered.

"Christine, sir. Daae." He jotted it down, then moved on to the next question.

"French. I could tell. Have you ever had any experience as an assistant?"

Christine hesitated. She had never been a secretary _or_ an assistant, but she hoped that wouldn't matter.

"No. .but I believe I would be good for your company. I'm very organized, and I have a decent memory, and my handwriting is very neat and I'm a fast typist, and I can work whatever hours you want, because I'm not-. ."

"That's fascinating. Your last three places of employment?"

Christine blinked, stunned.

She frowned at him, not bothering to hide her irritation. Why was he being so mean? She hadn't done anything to him!

_Except insult his wardrobe.._

She sighed, knowing she would have to cooperate if she was going to get this position. She quickly thought back to her last three jobs.

"Well, my latest was as a cashier at Starbucks on 49th, and before that I was a waitress at that Italian restaurant that I could never pronounce the name of without sounding like a New Yorker . . ."

She stopped as she saw the corner of his lips twitch from behind his desk, almost a smile. She let out a sigh of relief. So he icould/i do something other than scowl!

"_La Notte Annaffia_?" he questioned, humor evident in his eyes. Christine nodded, deciding she liked his Italian. It sounded very rich and natural on his tongue, and she would've guessed it was his native language, if she didn't already know that "De Mare" was French. He pulled off the English so flawlessly, however, that she could hardly tell if he was either.

"Continue," he said, breaking her from her musings.

"Sir?" she asked, confused. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Your. .. third job?"

"Oh! Of course. I was a club singer, at Katie's Lounge, downtown. .I quit because of the cigarette smoke. I was afraid I'd get cancer, or something."

That wasn't the real reason, though it was what she had told Meg and Raoul when they had called to check up on her. The real reason was that no one liked her singing there - they said she was too dull and lifeless. They wanted a whore, and Christine wouldn't be that for any of them.

Erik studied her a moment, and Christine noticed he looked surprised about something. She waited a minute, thinking he was going to say something.

Finally, he did.

"You sing?" his voice sounded disbelieving, and Christine raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, sir, I do. Well, not much, any more, but it was all I lived for until I moved here, about 3 and a half years ago. Then I just kind of. .stopped."

"Ah, I see. You never did anything with your talent?"

Christine blushed at this, and began wringing her hands again.

"Oh, I assure you, sir, it was never anything to do anything with. ."

She could've sworn she saw Erik's face fall when she said this, before he looked away and went back to his papers. They sat in awkward silence for a few seconds, before Erik asked his next question.

"Very well. Do you know anything about filing?" Christine nodded. "Photo editing?" Christine hesitated, then nodded. "Do you know what an A-D Converter is?"

Christine tilted her head in confusion, then shook her head no, disappointment obvious by the way she bit her lip and her eyes dimmed. This time Erik did give a twisted smile, and he held his hand out to her. She took it nervously, not sure what this meant. Erik shook it strongly, his grip like iron.

"You start tomorrow. Wear casual, nothing fancy." Christine brought her finger up, wanting to point out that Erik's attire was anything but casual, but he held out a finger to stop her. "I'm the boss. Leave it alone." Christine dropped her finger in defeat. "Be here at 8 am," he continued, walking around the room, closing the blinds.

"You'll be in the desk outside my office, and you'll be responsible for taking messages, filing, writing down photograph requests, making copies of orders, the works. Anything you have questions about, ask Sonya. Not me."

And then he was out the door, his cell phone in his pocket and his coffee in his hand. She watched him in amazement as he disappeared down the stairs of the two floor building, and out the glass doors onto the busy streets. He quickly disappeared in the large crowd, headed off to somewhere Christine probably would never step foot in her life. Christine collapsed onto the leather chair, held her head in her hands, and released the breath she had been holding since he had said the words: "You start tomorrow."

Wait a minute. .

She gave a squeal of triumph as she finally realized she was now the assistant of Erik De Mare, and would be in college in no time.

This would be a cinch. How hard could it be to please an exotic masked-man withdesigner threads and a nifty office?

Christine thought it best not to try to answer that question, and quickly stood and made her way out of the office, skipping all the way.

Her cell phone rang as she reached the glass doors, but she was too excited to bother answering it, and simply silenced it and continued skipping, and no one stopped to stare at her strange behavior. It was New York City, after all!

----

Raoul replaced the phone in its cradle, then put his head in his hands. Where was Chrissie? He needed to tell her about Christmas. He had been begging and begging Philippe to give him a couple thousand to get him to America to spend Christmas with his fiancee, but Philippe had rejected it every time. And Raoul had no access to any of the money without his brother's approval. It was the bad part about being the younger child in a family like Raoul's, where his brother owned the inheritance.

In his parent's will, Philippe had got the fortune, and Raoul had gotten the house. That technically meant he could kick Philippe out whenever the thought compelled him, but he didn't think he would accomplish much. He sighed. He had been trying to call Christine for the past two hours, but had received no answer. What if she was in trouble, and Raoul would never find out simply because Philippe didn't like her? Philippe was so spoiled, sometimes, it made him sick. Not letting her move in with them when she had no where else to go was slightly mroe understandable, since it wasn't exactly considered "proper", but not letting him visit her at all for three and a half years was another matter entirely.

Raoul growled under his breath in irritation, and quickly stood and walked determinedly towards the door, deciding to pay his brother another visit at work. He iwould/i see Christine, and he might even marry her there in Central Park, if he had too. Philippe would just have to deal with it.

—

**Longer than most of my others..but definitely not my best. This chapter's..choppy-like. Sorry about that.**

**Anywho, leave me a review and I'll get another update out to you soon! I promise!**


	4. First Day

**Oh look, the authoress is alive! **

**This has taken me an absurdly long time to update, simply because I've gotten lazy. My chapters will be shorter from now on, but believe me, I'll try to make the action flow at a steady pace.**

**Enjoy Chapter 3, and thank you to all my reviewers. You know who you are.**

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

**Chapter 3**

Erik chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich as he sat on the peeling, wrought-iron bench in the middle of Central Park, thinking of his newest employee, Christine Daae. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was that made him hire her. Was it the fire that he saw in her eyes- the look that said that she had seen more than she should in her lifetime, and she was prepared for anything- or was it something else? She didn't seem like secretary material. She talked before she thought about what she was saying, she was unhappy, she was tired, and she was a nervous wreck. Erik was already wondering how many customers he would lose with his new addition.

He could always call her and tell her he had changed his mind, but he knew that would break her heart. She needed this job, he could tell. .just by the clothes she wore and her appearance. Not that she wasn't beautiful- oh, she was definitely that. He could still see her blue eyes light up in triumph and rapture when he had told her she got the job, and he could see her shiny, mahogany hair that glimmered in the flourescent light of his office. .

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind. He figured he could give her a chance. What would it hurt? He sighed.

A couple walked by just then: a short, slender blonde with a crinkly-eyed, gangly youth. They were chatting animatedly, hands held together at their sides. Smiles lit up both their faces, and if they weren't blushing and looking toward the ground, they were looking towards each other, a glow in their eyes like Erik had seen so many times before, but never directed towards himself. But still, just as Erik had predicted, their eyes flitted curiously to his mask as they sauntered by, and for one instant- one fleeting moment- their eyes turned cold and hostile, as if he were an enemy, a person to be hated.

He glanced down at the golden watch upon his wrist, looking for something to distract him from the couples' glares. 12:30. He could go back to work early, to save himself from any more surprised glances or glares. Sighing, he wrapped up the remains of his sandwich in the paper wrapper, and threw it in the waste basket beside the bench. Brushing off bits of bread from his pants, he stood, grabbed his briefcase, then started towards the office.

She never even seemed to wonder about the ring. . ., he mused to himself as he went, smiling humorlessly as he stared down at the gold band around his finger.

Xx

"So. . ."

"So, what?"

"The interview, how was it?"

Christine sipped slowly at her black coffee, and stared at the blonde girl seated across from her in the small booth in the middle of the Hadler coffee shop at 35th. Her eyes were wide with anticipation, her mouth a grim line. Christine feigned sadness, and looked down into the Styrofoam cup in front of her. She let her hair fall around her. She heard the intake of breath from Meg, and the sad, but almost prepared sound of sadness that emitted from her mouth. Christine waited patiently for the sympathy speech that was destined to follow. . .

"Christine, I'm so sorry! But really, you'll find another one, you always do! You're better than a stupid image place anyway. What would you do there? And there's probably no hot guys there, to keep you occupied, so what's the fun in that? Gosh, Chrissy, it's okay! Why wouldn't they hire you? What morons! If I ever-. . ."

Meg paused as Christine snorted suddenly, then smiled and pushed back her hair, looking up at her friend with glowing eyes. It was silent between them for a moment, except for the crash of the workers in the kitchen and the chattering and laughter of the customers around them. Realization dawned on Meg's face, and she frowned in aggravation.

"Christine, you little liar!" she squealed, earning her a surprised glance from a few of the customers. Christine blushed.

"I start tomorrow," she stated meekly, staring down at the pale hands wrapped around her coffee cup. Meg was silent across from her.

"I hope you keep this one, Chrissy," she finally whispered, and Christine could hear the feeling in her words. She looked up. Meg was staring at her sadly, her eyes wide and pleading. Christine nodded softly.

"So," Meg chirped, a smile lighting her face, and all the seriousness from the moment vanished with the arrival of that smile. "Tell me about him. The boss, I mean."

Smiling, Christine told Meg about her employer, Erik De Mare, while Meg listened and nodded to every word.

Xx

"No. Next drawer over."

Christine paused, her nervous and clammy hand poised over the top drawer in the filing cabinet. Glancing tensely at her aggravated boss, leaning casually against the wall next to the cabinet, she closed the drawer. Wrapping her fingers around the cold steel of the handle of the next drawer, she opened it, and inserted the file folder of receipts. The folder was full, and it had been empty three days before. It was the receipts of those who ordered reprints of one specific picture he had taken; this folder happened to be one of the ones she had seen in his office: the photo of Frankfurt, Germany.

Each photo category had a specific drawer in the row of file cabinets that filled the room behind her desk, and she had to learn every one, and what criteria each pertained to. Along with that, the phones had been ringing off the hook all day, and she was surprised that by lunch Erik's desk wasn't buried under all the messages she had laid there on their little pink slips. She hadn't had time to break for lunch, having been too busy filling out order forms and checking credit card numbers of those who ordered by phone. She had kept checking the clock every five minutes, watching it creep slowly towards 5 o'clock, the minute hand seeming to mock her as the seconds dragged slowly by.

Erik hadn't been a very helpful boss, so far. He seemed to be testing her limits, each minute giving her a new task to do, always questioning if she were up to it. Each time the task got more and more ridiculous, and she wondered if he was trying to bring her to the breaking point before she even got going. The other workers spoke to her a little, and she had learned all their names, she was just having trouble remembering them. None of them seemed to think negatively of her; if anything, they seemed sympathetic of her position. The last thing she needed was sympathy, but she didn't have the energy to spare to tell them to forget it. So they watched her with curious eyes as she scampered around, not knowing what in the world she was doing. By the end of the day, she was sweaty and exhausted, and Erik was as prim and flawless as ever, not even a crease in his tie or his white, crisp dress shirt, but a small, mocking smile on his pale face.

Finally, it was 5, and she found herself packing her small bag and placing her unfinished forms in the metal drawer under her desk. Sighing, she pushed the hair away from her sweaty forehead, turned off the monitor to her computer, then turned away from the desk. Erik was standing in front of her, watching her with curious and calculating eyes. Christine fought not to twitch under his gaze. A small smirk was on the unmasked portion of his face.

"You did well for your first day," he said calmly, an amused tone to his voice. Christine scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Thanks for the support, Mr. De Mare, but I don't need the sympathy. I know I did terrible. I can't handle all this on the first day, and I can't possibly-. ."

"I'm aware of that." He cut her off, coldness in his voice. He cleared his throat, trying to soften his tone. "But I do not plan to start you off easy, for that always forms lazy habits in the future. This way, there won't be any unexpected curves in your new job, and eventually you'll fall into a steady pattern. It's the same way with. . . your voice."

He gestured towards her as he said this, then turned and began locking the doors to each private office. Christine raised an eyebrow.

"You sing?" she questioned softly, watching him as he went around checking doors and windows.

"Yes," he answered stiffly, walking gracefully to his briefcase and picking it up from the floor. She watched him inquisitively as he turned off the lights to the offices, the kitchen, the break room. . .then finally he came back to where she stood, waiting.

"But I, unlike you, did not give up my talents as if they were nothing," he spat icily, glaring at her with cold eyes. Christine flinched, eyes widening in surprise.

"You don't know anything!" she hissed, narrowing her eyes at the dark and imposing man before her.

"I know this," he said calmly, pulling at the cuffs of his Armani dress shirt. "I can tell by your speaking voice, by your laugh, that your singing voice would be beautiful, if you applied yourself. How a person can give up such a thing, for any reason, is beyond me. But so be it. It's not my place. Good night, Ms. Daae, and I expect you back here tomorrow at 8."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Christine stunned and hurt behind him.

**XXXX**

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**Next chapter will probably be all Raoul, so be prepared. :)**


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